


A New Low, Even For Me

by RavenZaphara



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Anders Has Issues, Anders has scars on his back, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Thoughts, Depression, Dissociation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Fenders, Fenris Has Issues, Hello Yes I am new to the fandom please be nice to me, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Jealousy, M/M, Morning Wood, Music, Mutual Pining, Okay so., Okay. So., Pining, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, They are going to bond over these got damn issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yes you read that right, anders has no self-esteem, both of them are bisexual disasters, but also these boys, but if you're not interested i wholly understand and respect that, hug me goddammit, i leave nothing unfinished, i swear i'm coming back to those i just needed to do this really quick, i will take a hammer and fix the canon, im sorry im just really worked up, male hawke - Freeform, me either anders sweetie, me. i mean me. i am stressed, near-kiss, someone please hug this poor awkward creature, that's the one part of canon i'm going to cling to, the rest of it has begun to upset me so bear with me here while i make this presentable, they bout to share this fucking bed, to anyone waiting for me to update my other stories, with any luck you can enjoy this story too, you cannot tell me these boys would not support each other if they just hammered that shit out okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-04 17:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenZaphara/pseuds/RavenZaphara
Summary: "I can't do this much longer." Anders muttered to himself as Hawke looted bodies and Isabela made another pass at Fenris. It was all fine, he mused. No one ever took him seriously unless he was glowing.He wanted to stay strong, but he was just waiting to break down. He was terrified that this time he wouldn't be able to. Already, he felt nothing.He stopped listening. Followed the others through the paces. And he refused to even breathe from his mouth so he didn't taste the coppery air where so much blood magic had been cast. He could imagine no more snark, nothing more to add to the scenes around him.He was no more aware of what was around him in the bar later. Perhaps that was best. After all the torture of the day's events, Anders would not have appreciated the green eyes watching him shatter.





	1. The Rammifications of Watching Your Rival Bathe, and the Awkward Amount of Feelings that Result

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is the first thing i'm writing for the dragon age fandom. There will likely (very, veryyyy likely) be more, some of which might even include smut if my readers seem interested. 
> 
> To understand what the title refers to, it could be from either Anders' or Fenris' perspective-- or the song that i looked for to fit the feeling I was going for in this chapter, which is linked here in the fic for your listening pleasure. Please enjoy "New Low by Middle Class Rut" and how accurate it feels to Anders.

Fenris hadn’t particularly enjoyed the battles today. Blood mages. Multiple cases of them. And to make it even better, Hawke had Anders along for the ride.

The mage had become uncharacteristically quiet after the second group had to be dispatched. At first, Fenris was overjoyed-- but then he began to get nervous. Did this mean he was about to become a well-and-true abomination?

Anders’ silence was unbroken even when everyone stopped in the Hanged Man that night. Anders, by this time, was not only caked with dried blood and sweat, but also completely unresponsive. Fenris wondered why he didn’t just go home to his little clinic.

He felt better keeping an eye on him. If he went mad in Fenris’ sight, he’d be dead before his balls, and thus his voice, could drop.

Hawke had certainly noticed however, and seemed worried. Fenris didn’t notice Hawke had slipped the bartender some coin until he pulled Anders aside and told him to go wash up and rest for a while. That surely it’d be better than sleeping on the cot at the clinic.

Anders was too far gone to remark that his desk was the more likely location. It didn’t matter anyway. Woodenly, Anders went upstairs, still without even a word.

Fenris excused himself from the game fairly early and found his way upstairs without being noticed. The mage hadn’t been gone long, but Fenris really couldn’t trust this new and somehow disturbing silence.

He kept to the shadows. And when he came to the door that Hawke had pointed Anders to, he noted it hadn’t even been closed all the way. 

Just inside, Fenris could see Anders sitting on a stool, staring into space. His unblinking profile lit by flickering light. He sat there for a long moment. No sound. No movement. Fenris wasn’t even sure Anders was alive for a moment.

Fenris almost jumped out of his skin when Hawke laughed uproariously downstairs. Anders almost fell off the stool, too. He breathed at last and looked down at his blood- and grime- covered hands.

Fenris had an inkling now, but he played dumb, refusing to feel empathy for Anders.

Anders stood up and Fenris panicked. Would Anders see him, spying on him through the half-shut door? No, the mage’s back was turned to him now.

The rustle of the chain unlatching at the chest was all the warning there was before Anders let his coat drop from his shoulders, draping over the stool. He grabbed over his shoulder and pulled his shirt over his head.

Fenris bit down on his breath, eyes wide as he stared.

This suddenly felt very wrong, watching Anders as he dropped the shirt, sat down again, and slouched. The mage braced his elbows on his thighs and held his chin, staring off again. The water basin at his feet was likely already cold.

Yes, this was wrong. Fenris felt certain that he should just… walk away. Or make his presence known. _Certainly not._

Even silent, Anders would find some way to get the last word in. And if there was one thing Fenris loved more than anything, it was being called out for doing something with awkward motives.

Now, however, he couldn’t escape the hellish logic of the situation as it dawned on him. Anders was dissociating. Perhaps that was dangerous.

But it was not what caused Fenris’ reaction.

Fenris had told Anders he didn’t care if the mages were enslaved. But seeing such familiar markings made Fenris’ guts hurt. 

Those scars were once welts. Fenris didn’t have to touch them to know _exactly_ how they’d feel under his fingertips. 

How many of his fellows’ wounds had he pressed stolen salves to to prevent that exact pattern of scars from forming? Why hadn’t Anders healed it himself? And the more Fenris looked, the more the flickering light revealed.

Some of those cross-hatched scars were white and sprawling. That meant they’d been inflicted when he was young. As he’d grown, they’d stretched and spread. They’d be almost entirely numb to the touch.

While Fenris silently gaped, Anders reached down into the basin of water and grabbed the rag. The sound of the dripping water and scent of cheap salves brought Fenris back into awareness of his own state. Namely in that he hadn’t breathed in a bit. The sound of the water covered the sounds of Fenris continuing to breathe.

Anders’ hands were shaking as he cleaned off his face. Fenris wondered if he was even getting himself clean. He wasn’t too concerned; as far as he knew, none of the blood on him was his own. So the shaking wasn’t from blood loss.

The battles hadn’t left anyone with any substantial wounds. 

Fenris tried to play it off in his head, remarking internally that Anders was shaking like an old man. He must secretly be old, playing at youth out of some vanity.

He tried, but couldn’t commit. _He_ had shaken like that before. Every time he’d seen his fellows beaten, or was beaten himself, hadn’t he shaken like that, too?

This had started after the second den, right? So it was the blood mages.

Fenris’ mouth was a tight line. _It’s one thing to back a rat into a corner and snuff it out while it fights for one last stand. It’s another to wonder if you’ll be next. To wonder when your friends will decide you’re too far gone to give another chance_.

It was frightening to see yourself mirrored in the eyes of an enemy you had _needed_ to save.

Anders paused, dropped the rag into the basin and held his head in his hands. Silently, his frame began to shake softly.

_This is a mage._ Fenris reminded himself, but it did little to ease the helplessness he felt. _This_ mage was different. He couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t just a mage. Nor was he just an abomination.

Quietly, Fenris left at last. Everyone at the table was too drunk and caught up in Isabella’s tale of debauchery to notice him as he left.

Anders was no danger to the others tonight. Fenris could rest easy.

In theory.


	2. Keep Telling Yourself It's Sympathy and Not Empathy. You Fool Only Yourself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric is an accomplice. Fenris has trouble with Words. Anders is Confused as Fuck, as per the norm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters are usually really long, but if i dwell too long i'm afraid i'll lose it, and also i'm exhausted and trying not to sleep so i can be on a good schedule for my new work.
> 
> Any feedback or love is appreciated. It'll hydrate my sleep and water deprived mind and body. i should eat something. or take a nap. yes, a nap sounds good. nevermind, my partner's awake now.

If anyone, including Anders, noticed a change in Fenris’ attitude after that night, no one mentioned it. It wasn’t that Fenris went out of his way to help Anders. Not at all. He hadn’t even been less vocal in his distrust of mages.

It was during battles that the change occurred. He was gravitating toward Anders. He’d continue to watch the mage’s back-- albeit in a marginally less creepy way.

It wasn’t enough. Fenris still didn’t sleep well. Anders still didn’t speak as much, though he did speak. No one else seemed to notice or care.

Arrangements needed to be made. Varric had both a very strange concept for a new story-- and a healthy fear to call Fenris’ bluff on all the terrible things that could be done to a dwarf before he bled out entirely. He’d never figured Fenris the creative type, but he’d have to remember some of those methods for his next book.

All names changed to protect himself, of course.

 

* * *

 

Anders reread the note. 

_Please make time for a private visitor tonight. I would like to talk to you and would prefer no one to witness me in your presence._

Why the absolute fuck had Varric written this and nailed it to his door? The handwriting was obviously Varric’s, but the phrasing made Anders roll his eyes. Did he stick his dick in something bad? He wasn’t usually one for shame, so what else would bring him to the clinic in such a manner that he didn’t want anyone else to see him?

Varric was far from Anders’ list of hated people, however, so he just sighed, stowed the note away, and reminded himself to clean up a bit if he had a free moment before shutting down early.

After the lamp was extinguished, he walked back into the clinic yawning. It was time to write. He did so hope Varric would let himself in. He had much to catch up on and didn’t feel like waiting by the door.

Anders heard the door open and jolted awake, cheek reddened from having fallen asleep on the desk again. He scrubbed drool off the desk, sighing at the small spit stains on his papers. He’d have to rewrite that page. Dammit. 

He stretched and groaned but still didn’t glance up at the door-- and so, when he finally did look up and saw Fenris’ hips instead of Varric’s face, his jaw went slack and his gaze darted up to meet the elf’s eyes.

Fenris hadn’t anticipated Anders being surprised, but that wasn’t important.

“Fenris.” Anders’ voice and gestures seemed a bit stiff. “Is there something wrong?”

Fenris could hear it in his tone. _Andraste’s shriveled tits. If you’re here, something’s got to be seriously wrong._

Fenris looked around for a stable surface upon which to sit, but with a sigh just stood in front of the desk. “I…” Well… How did he say this without being weird? How could he get his point across? “I just wanted to talk to you for a while.”

That did nothing for Anders anxiety, that was for sure. “About what.”

Fenris panicked internally. He was on the verge of turning and walking right back out without another word, but then he remembered those goddamn scars and the silent weeping and…

Anders watched Fenris’ expression morph, saw his throat work as he swallowed some emotion Anders hadn’t expected. 

How could he start this? How could he… “I wanted to give you a chance to talk. Once. Just…” Agh, but that wasn’t what he was trying to say at all! He wanted to pull his hair out, but outwardly didn’t even twitch.

Anders looked bewildered. “You came to me secretly, after hours… to debate mages?”

Fenris wanted to disagree, but it wasn’t easy. If he did at this point, what would he say afterward? Knowing him, nothing good!

Anders sighed. He should have been irritated, but there was something deeper going on here. He wasn’t dumb. “I suppose we can try. I’m sure there’s a reason you wanted no one to know you’re here.”

The conversation derailed rather quickly, but not in a way Anders could have predicted. Fenris’ prompts and questions left Anders scrambling for answers that weren’t personal. This wasn’t just about mages. 

“Fenris, what’s going on?”

Fenris flinched at Anders’ tone. He was steeling himself before he visibly and forcibly relaxed. Anders took mind to keep his tone less aggressive.

Fenris finally spoke. “I… thought we had something in common.” He went to go on but closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again.

“We have much in common.” Anders muttered. “We’re both stubborn men who have been hunted and treated as animals for circumstances we didn’t choose.” Before Fenris could get irked, Anders sighed. “It’s different, I know.”

Seeing Anders sink back into the seat and look more exhausted than any person conceivably should, Fenris finally spoke again. “How do you relax? Do you ever lose control?”

Anders didn’t know how to respond. “I don’t know if I ever relax. I’m afraid to, but it’s not because I fear losing control.” Fenris nodded, and Anders gnawed on his lip before continuing. “I don’t think I’ve ever relaxed. Another thing we might have in common?”

The silence drug on again, and Fenris couldn’t stand it any longer. He was fed up with laying low like a coward. This awkward shit was absolutely not what he’d come here for. If he couldn’t phrase this gently, he just needed to be direct.

“I saw your back.” Fenris said flatly.

Anders blinked at him in disbelief. 

Fenris growled under his breath and began pacing. “I… I felt that we had something in common. And I wanted to…” He took a deep breath to steady himself and buy time as he chose his words. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re doing fine. I’m just surprised and… perhaps a little concerned.”

Fenris stopped in front of Anders’ desk and put his hands down on it. He glared up into Anders’ eyes. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. If you need, find me. I’m not… great at talking sometimes. But we have something in common, and I can listen.”

“I think I’m even more concerned now.” Anders responded.

Fenris started to take it back, but then Anders smiled at him. Fenris bit his cheek. This was new.

“Thank you, Fenris. I’ll try not to look too deeply into this.”

“Good.” Fenris grumbled. And then, because he’d heard Hawke complain before, “When’s the last time you ate?”

Anders paused a little too long as he thought. Fenris sighed dismally. “I see I’ll have to provide food during our talks. Clean the rest of the spit off your face. Let’s go.”

“Thought you were afraid to be seen with me.” 

“Just for that, you can buy your own dinner.”

“Agh! Okay, wait up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not done yet. Promise it gets even better. Sorry I'm so sleepy, otherwise this would be longer and more in depth. im totally gonna crash now.


	3. Your Eyes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think they're friends now.
> 
> Um. Friends stare longingly at each other, right? Friends want to intimately touch each other's faces, right?
> 
> This might be why I don't have friends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I need one more chapter out of this, but rest assured it'll be the last. It will also hopefully be the funniest bc I love making people laugh. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy! GET READY FOR PINING BC HERE IT COMES.

"So it makes you anxious that badly?” Anders asked through a mouthful of bread slathered in gravy. The speed with which he cleared his plate, and the thoroughness of how he mopped every speck off of it with the last of the bread spoke volumes as to how he hadn’t taken anyone’s advice on eating more frequently. 

Anders swallowed the bite still mostly unchewed, chasing with the wine, trying not to cringe at the taste. Wine was certainly never his favorite. Regardless, he smacked his lips after finishing and sighed, leaning back and stretching a bit.

Fenris watched him almost affectionately. Not that anyone would see it as anything other than wary or stoic. The difference was subtle, in the softness at the corners of his eyes. Fenris tossed the small remainder on his plate onto Anders while he was busy stretching. The expression when he opened his eyes and saw the food was somewhere between heart wrenching and comical. 

Once again through a full mouth, he repeated his question. “It’s uncomfortable?”

Fenris’ mouth pulled down. “Yes. Being around magic makes me tense.”

They’d had these talks twice this week. Anders hoped they’d become even more frequent-- and not just because Fenris was, for some reason, buying him dinner. He wasn’t rich; he wasn’t going to turn it down. Pride was for the wealthy. 

The oddest thing about these talks was how Fenris seemed to transform during them. It was almost like being in the clinic after hours produced a truce. No shouting matches. His opinions certainly never changed, but rather than discuss the political senses they’d begun with the experiences that had formed those views.

The first few times, Fenris had all but refused to talk. Anders wasn’t sure how comfortable with that he was, but it quickly became apparent that it was really about how Fenris wasn’t accustomed to using his words on personal thoughts and opinions-- and so while he did it frequently, it almost always focused on bitterness and anger. He was unfamiliar with expressions of much else. 

“I’m sure that includes me, too. And yet you come here.” Anders finally responded. “Should I expect Wintersend gifts?”

Fenris exhaled sharply. Like a laugh, but for someone who didn’t know how to. “Hardly.”

There was a pause. “Uh… to which part?”

“Either.”

“Wait, what? You’re not nervous around me?”

“Do not think into it. You have healed me enough and though I’ve also seen you burn men alive or boil them in their skin… I really cannot imagine being intimidated by you. Perhaps because you would offer no challenge in a fight against me.”

“Ohh, so _that’s_ how it is, hmm?”

“It’s been years. You have had _years_ to even accidentally spike me with an icepick. And I am sure you were tempted at some points.”

“I was more tempted to bump you in the head with my staff when you were close enough I could make it look like an accident.”

“That… never happened.”

“I have amazing self-control.”

Fenris smiled at his empty plate. “So I see. I could still kill you.”

“So could a small rock, if you give it the right trajectory and hit one of a few choice areas.” 

“So you do not fear me either?” Fenris prodded, hitching a brow at him.

“I’m in no way, shape, or form afraid of you. Would I survive a fight with you? Unlikely. _Highly_ unlikely. But that’s because I can neither combat nor top the act of _literally fondling someone’s internal organs_.”

Fenris decided he’d had enough wine for the night. 

Anders finished off the last bit of food and fell over dramatically.

"This is literally a dirt floor."

"Mm, we can’t all kill for mansions. I’d be terrified to live in Hightown, alone. Honestly? I’m not exactly any less terrified here. Got any noisy neighbors to conveniently get rid of?

"May I suggest the Dupuis manor? A corpse holds no claim to a mansion."

Anders made a face. "Where would I begin on cleanup?"

"You could do what I do."

Anders cringed. "I know my clinic’s a mess, but… I don’t usually leave corpses lying around."

"It certainly keeps trespassers out." Fenris set his cup down and adjusted himself. He _definitely_ drank too much; laying down on the dirt sounded appealing.

“Yeah, but word travels fast around here. If Hawke and Varric know, _everyone_ will know. And what would be the point? I don’t think I’d be able to sleep so close to the guard and the Templars. Especially not in a manor once inhabited by a blood mage accused of being a serial murderer.”

“You are sure anyone would know you were there? Can you not just magic yourself invisible, sneak around?”

Anders huffed laughter and rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ everyone would find out. Like I said, Hawke knows _everything_. And after he knows, it’s common knowledge. Hawke’s great, but he’s not the best at secrets. Or subtlety for that matter.”

"Is that so?" Fenris almost sounded like he was chuckling. “You sincerely believe he knows everything?”

"Varric knows about these little meetings, doesn’t he?" Anders didn’t wait for an answer. “Anything Varric knows, Hawke knows.”

"I told Varric I was teaching you to play Diamondback properly out of pity, considering you owe me so much."

"He’s not dumb enough to believe it. I’m not any better. I’m _worse_ , for fuck’s sake."

"I impressed him with all the ways I could kill him if he ever breathes a word about it."

"I’m… really surprised he hasn’t said anything on meet night." Anders remarked. 

"Donnic is clueless. Varric cannot guarantee he would stay quiet. Varric appreciates his limbs being attached to his body."

Anders snorted gracelessly. “I still say Hawke will find out, if he doesn’t know already. Blighted fucker has a million ears to the ground. It’s like he has a radar for gossip.” Fenris bit his cheek to keep from grinning. He pushed himself up before offering a hand. Anders stared up at him for a moment before swinging his hand, missing, and Fenris sighed in mock-aggravation.

He leaned down and tried to pull Anders up by his shoulders, but realized belatedly that this was not going to go well. Anders was Wasted, and heavier than Fenris had anticipated, the gangly fuck.

So when he fell over to lay perpendicular across Anders, all was still for a moment before they both burst into laughter.

Fenris managed to help Anders into his bed before he left with the last of his wine. When he collapsed in bed, he was almost asleep when a thought screeched through his mind.

_Anders is passed out and alone. What happens if the Templars come?_

He was getting accustomed to never sleeping. It was still annoying.

 

* * *

It was a slow change in Fenris. He’d only really at first asked himself what made Anders different from all other mages. And then, he began asking how many others like Anders there were.

And then he began to ask how few were actually bad, rather than asking how many.

He tried not to let it slip into conversations, but the now-frequent dinner nights made Fenris aware of that knowing smirk. During daylight, or outings with Hawke, it became difficult to see that smirk without saying something. 

More often than not, he bit his cheek to keep from smiling. 

Diamondback nights certainly became more nerve-wracking as time went on. Varric’s keen eyes were merciless as he watched every reaction between the two men. If he noticed anything, he’d definitely keep it stowed away in his mind to write down later. Fenris itched to know what he saw, but even if he could find whatever notes Varric wrote, he would be hard pressed to read them.

Donnic was goddamn oblivious, as was normal. Fenris and Varric were thankful of that. Anders was, as everyone knew, still absolutely wretched at cards. Fenris feared that the mage’s utter lack of a functional poker face would lead to worse issues than just debt.

But nothing could keep them all from drinking. It was normal anymore for Fenris to drink earnestly on these nights. Unless he was a slobbering drunk, sleep was impossible lately, and he couldn’t afford to not rest. He could handle a hangover-- Anders could heal that. He couldn’t fix lack of sleep.

Before the night ended, Fenris ended up passed out at the table. Anders was fussing over him, just as wasted. Donnic offered to help Anders pack Fenris into the master bedroom. Varric watched them carry him up the stairs, laughing into his cup but definitely taking note of Anders walking backwards while holding Fenris’ shoulders, tongue stuck out and sweat beading on his forehead.

“If this is going to become a regular thing, we should invite Sebastian next time.” Varric remarked.

“Or,” Donnic grunted, “you could help us.”

“I’d make you spill him, more like. With how full of wine he is, that’d be a problem.”

Anders had to take a moment to laugh, almost falling down the stairs, still gripping Fenris’ shoulders. Varric’s eyes narrowed at the murmured curse and look of desperation as he adjusted his grip to make sure he didn’t drop or otherwise hurt Fenris. Normally he’d chalk that familiarity up to the amount of times he’d moved patients or healed Fenris in particular-- but there was something more in Anders’ body language. 

_It screams something that didn’t need words_. Varric grinned and moved to jog up the stairs after the two men. He was going to have to watch closely to see just how correct he was. 

And _fuck_ did he love being right.

Varric was nice enough to get the door to Fenris’ bedroom. The door had been locked, but even as tipsy as he was, Varric was able to take care of it. He took note that the broody elf needed better locks, but didn’t say anything, standing aside so they could carry Fenris in.

It was satisfying to see Anders struggle to put Fenris down with some semblance of gentleness, leaning over the bed and even _brushing his hair from his face_ before standing up. He pointed at Donnic and then at Fenris’ feet. “Boods.” He slurred, and then, with timing Varric could not even exaggerate, fell over, smacking his head on the corner post of the bedframe with a sickening noise.

_How the fresh dick did he manage that?_ “Ah shit, is he dead?” Varric asked, edging closer, laughing his ass off even so.

Donnic checked. “No such luck.”

Varric moved to Donnic’s side and sighed, looking down at the crumpled mage who was now snoring softly. “Ah it’s just a head wound. He’ll be fine; he’s a healer. It’s funnier if we just leave him here and go home.”

Donnic shook his head. “You’re terrible. We should at least put him up in the bed.”

There was a pause and then Varric let out a hysterical bray of laughter. He elbowed Donnic in the thigh, resulting in a grunt. Donnic looked concerned but he was running out if patience for the dwarf. He was not drunk _enough_ for this shit.

When Varric was done laughing he said "That’s the best thing I've ever heard in my life. I was gonna say you should drag him all the way to Darktown if you insisted on moving him at all. But you know what? You just made my month. I think I like you."

 

* * *

 

It took a while for the haze to dissipate for Fenris that morning, but when it did he vowed to throttle Varric to death.

Anders had been haphazardly thrown onto the bed face-first, one arm hanging off the bed, the other slung over Fenris’ waist, effectively pinning him into the bed.

A quick glance at the source of the soft snores showed Anders’ face smushed most unflatteringly a few inches from his breastplate. His legs were hanging off the foot of the bed, his boots still on.

_At least we are clothed._ Fenris tried to extricate himself from Anders’ embrace. Nature was calling, dammit, and when he couldn't immediately get away he began to panic.

Almost on cue, though, Anders got the memo, and, still firmly mired in sleep, rolled over onto his side, snuggling into the pillow beneath his head and breathing contentedly against it.

Free at last, Fenris barely hesitated to climb from the bed. He’d wake the mage later. He had to piss _now_.

On his way back to his room, he noticed Anders’ coat still slung upon the back of the chair he’d sat in. Fenris picked it up and draped it over his arm before returning to his bedroom.

Anders was still curled up, but he’d flopped over, and was hugging the pillow Fenris had slept on. Fenris stared for a long moment, leaning against the doorway. What was he doing? Since when was he so anxious about interacting with Anders? He didn’t even flinch when he healed him. Even on occasions when he lit up with anger and his voice deepened, he wasn’t so much scared as he was annoyed. 

But now, for some reason he couldn’t ascertain, Fenris was cowed by the image of Anders sleeping peacefully in his bed, curled into a pillow that very likely smelled of him. Now that he wasn’t sleeping on his face, he wasn’t snoring, either. What the hell was this feeling creeping upon him, and why was it there?

The kitchen was decidedly a better place to be. Until further notice. Maybe Anders would wake up and just go home if Fenris hid in there.

_Hiding?!_ He mentally screamed at himself, not realizing that he was pacing back and forth.

Anders groaned and rolled onto his back, still holding the pillow before jolting awake and sitting up gasping. His eyes were bleary as he looked around, blinking rapidly. Slowly, as everything came into focus, he held his head in his hands and groaned again, his hands glowing. “What _happened_ last night?” He muttered, his voice husky from sleep. “Where _am_ I?”

Fenris stood there awkwardly. “Varric piled you into my bed after you presumably passed out. Do you remember anything?”

Anders jumped a bit at Fenris’ voice before he visibly relaxed. “Not really, but your bed is _so comfy_. I might actually have to take one of your neighbor’s old homes, if it means sleeping like that more often.”

Fenris smiled despite himself.

“Where did _you_ sleep, Fenris?” Anders asked, innocent concern in his voice. 

“Do not worry yourself. Let’s eat something and go look for Hawke.” He paused as Anders got up. Without his coat on, Fenris could see just how much of Anders was there. Broad shoulders, well-built arms. 

_Oh._

Anders yawned and stretched as he walked forward on his tiptoes. 

_ Oh, no. _

"Does your head hurt from drinking last night?" His concern was dialed up even more. He reached out, asking with his eyes if it was okay. They’d gotten past hesitation and stumbling questions.

The familiarity of his actions compounded with the touch as he gently took Fenris’ head in his hands. Fenris’ eyes fluttered closed. He had chillbumps. His brands flared and he hummed in contentment as the pain ebbed away.

When Anders’ hands didn’t move from his face for a long moment, Fenris felt his stomach tense before he realized where his own hands were. He opened his eyes and, sure enough, he was lightly grasping Anders’ wrists.

When had that happened?

They maintained silent eye contact, and Anders suddenly realized how easy it would be to lean in and--

_Oh, shit_. He cleared his throat and released Fenris. He couldn’t look him in the eye; if he had, he wouldn’t have seen Fenris frantically bury his disappointment under a neutral expression.

Anders was searching for something to say, but nothing came. Nothing _acceptable_ , especially. Once again with unintentionally perfect timing, Anders broke the silence. His stomach made a noise most closely resembling guttural yodeling.

"Something to eat." Fenris reminded himself before hurrying out of the bedroom without waiting for Anders to follow.

Anders looked back at the bed once more before sighing and going after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMMNNNG I'm so ready to get this story finished! I hope you guys enjoyed, i'm aiming to get the next chapter out soon, providing i have time to work on it before, during, or after work.
> 
> Bear in mind, though. I started my new job. And I might also have to take up a second job to make ends meet.


	4. (I Hope) No One Can Hear These Silent Confessions, but Fuck if I'm Not Feeling It Out Loud.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who wants more Shared Bed Trope? Also, is anyone else as weak for the idea of Fenris trying to patch someone up in a bind?
> 
> There is some mild sexual content? It's just morning wood and cuddling, nothing intense. Because morning wood, despite it's depiction in this fic, is usually so fucking annoying to wake up to. Trust me on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to the long-ass titles because I'm tired and I have to go to work in the morning and it's late and I'm done.  
> So here's the skinny, there'll be one more chapter, and then this will be done. You can blame my friend Jai for this getting longer, because the shared bed scenes in this chapter were not originally planned.

It was a while between Diamondback nights after that event, but Anders and Fenris could no more ignore or avoid each other than they could avoid Hawke. 

Suspicious of Hawke and how much he might know, Fenris seemed less friendly and was at times even hostile to the other party members. Anders tried not to cause any problems, fearful that Fenris would snap at him and that this friendship that he’d come to treasure would erupt in flames.

And still the meetings would happen. Fenris couldn’t stay away, couldn’t sleep soundly without checking in, making sure he ate. Making sure Anders had smiled that day, that he didn’t have to sit alone and cry into his hands. Making sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

It was getting harder to speak freely. He was confused; this panic he felt every time he was around Anders was either some type of witchcraft or a legitimate addiction.

The talks were just as friendly as ever, neither pushing the other into talking, but wow did Anders have stories to tell. Some of them left Fenris balling his fists hard enough that his nails bit into his palms from the rage the stories planted in his guts. Others, however...

"Well, so the table was about to here on me." Anders gestured to his waist, a devious smile on his face. "They were going to file into the room at any time and I had a perfect opportunity. So I took it. Right before the Templar function, I stood up on my tip toes, and pissed in the punch bowl."

Fenris had unwisely taken a sip during the story and now he spat it everywhere as he laughed. 

Anders was proud of himself for making Fenris laugh like that-- it actually _sounded_ like a laugh this time, which was rare!-- but even so he fussed over him, apologizing as Fenris coughed.

"I have waterboarded myself. Cease that, I am fine. I did not expect you to have such an effect on me." Fenris paused and cleared his throat again. “I’m at once astounded you did that and disappointed in myself that I expected anything less."

When Anders didn’t stop trying to touch him, to try to heal him, Fenris, who was on the path to drunkenness, sighed and leaned into the hands. Anders held his breath. No healing magic came. Fenris looked over at Anders in confusion only to find his face a startling shade of red.

This was becoming more common every day. The tension between them had been bad before, but now that it wasn’t hostile, it was even more stifling. They were becoming aware of each other in a whole new way. It was… unsettling at first.

This wasn’t the first time Fenris had leaned into Anders’ healing magic. In fact, he’d _asked_ Anders to help him cut down on potions. He’d trust no one else with that if he could help it.

It was just a small act of trust, but it carried so much weight for both of them. 

This feeling was becoming impossible to keep in check.

 

* * *

It was late. Fenris had been home for no more than half an hour, bare against the sheets, flesh almost feverish from how drunk he was.

Someone was knocking on his front door. Someone was _opening_ his front door. Fenris reached for his sword when he heard a voice and fell out of bed, splayed naked on the freezing and dirty floor.

He jolted up, grabbed his leggings and pulled them on backwards. Again, the voice called from the base of the stairs, and the tone made Fenris scramble a little faster. "Fenris? Are you awake?"

"YEs. Stay there!" He yelped, hopping to the door as he pulled his pants up the rest of the way. Maker, he didn’t want Anders to walk in on him like--

"Anders?" His blood ran cold and he stumbled downstairs. "Anders, you are bleeding." He was gripping the wall to stay steady, but seeing Anders like this made every nightmare he’d had seem entirely too capable of coming true.

Anders touched his face with a shaking hand. He looked at the blood on his fingers. "Oh. I didn’t notice that one." He tried to smile. There was blood on his teeth. 

"Anders, what happened?"

"Templars. I got away, but they were following. Think I shook them off before I even hit Hightown." His eyes softened as Fenris reached out to steady him. "It’s a face cut, they bleed a lot but I’ll be okay. I, heh… gave as good as I got. They can’t heal like I can, though. So they look worse."

"Small, moot consolation." Fenris hissed, brushing Anders’ hair, stiff with blood, away from the wound. It wasn’t just a face cut. It extended up into his scalp. "Heal." He commanded.

Anders’ face screwed up as he visibly tried, but he seemed to be too exhausted. Fenris guided him into the bedroom, sat him on the bed, and rummaged around for his emergency supply of healing potions. He hadn’t needed them lately, after all.

"I need to hide. You’re the only one who knows so far. I can try Hawke’s manor if you would prefer..." Anders’ voice trailed off as Fenris looked back at him with the most sour expression he could manage.

"If I had not meant to protect you, I would not have put you in my bed." Fenris didn’t dare mention that, had he really meant to involve Hawke, he would have done so first since it was closer than Fenris’ mansion.

Anders blushed but kept his gaze to the ground. "I should go clean myself off..." 

"You should _stay put_. Let me take care of this."

Fenris had sobered up greatly in a short amount of time. Even with his pants on backwards and the way they made him grimace with crotch discomfort, when he came to crouch in front of Anders with an armful of bandages, rags, and potions, he couldn’t help but think how gracefully he moved.

It had been haunting his dreams. Now, his shockingly gentle touch against his scalp and the way Fenris’ sharp eyes assessed the damages that Anders was too deeply in shock to feel…

"You’d do good at this." He whispered as Fenris doctored him up. "If being a broody mercenary doesn’t pan out in the future, we could work together."

Fenris ignored the pride, the faith, the vulnerability in the offer. It made that helpless feeling that clenched his chest complicate suddenly. Especially when he looked into Anders’ eyes, saw the open honesty, the adoration. And Fenris felt his own face grow hot.

The role reversal was strange of course, but anxiety ate at them both. First of all was their rising tensions; neither of them knew how to confront their own feelings. But there was also Fenris’ fear that Anders wouldn’t be safe, that he wouldn't be omnipresent enough to protect him properly. Anders, meanwhile, was afraid that he’d brought misery and stress on his friend.

And lastly, anxiety one would feel over sharing a bed with a man one is pretending to have purely platonic feelings for. And deliciously enough, both of these men were in such a mind.

In Fenris’ case, this would be the first time sleeping in a bed with someone at all, which felt incredibly nerve-wracking and awkward. Anders was panicking because he was a notorious cuddler and didn’t want to make Fenris uncomfortable.

This was going to be a clusterfuck.

 

* * *

Anders decided if he faced away from Fenris, he couldn’t attempt to cuddle. And then he just begged the Maker that he wouldn’t roll over and do it in his sleep.

Waking up in the mansion was just as disorienting as last time-- perhaps more so, since Anders resurfaced into consciousness with a very warm and shirtless elf half-slung on top of him. Anders was pinned in place by a leg and an arm. When Anders feels hot breath rustling his hair on his neck, he slowly pieced together that it was the feeling of Fenris’ lips pressed at his nape.

Fenris, securely and blissfully unconscious, had never slept so deeply or peacefully. He was curled up next to something Warm and… he nuzzled into Anders’ hair despite stray hairs itching his face. 

Anders became fully aware when he felt something throbbing at his lower back. And, holy shit, it was _not his back acting up_. Anders’ heart was pounding. 

Fenris had never rested like this, and so, dazed, unconscious, and apparently painfully hard, he squeezed Anders like an oversized body pillow, purring--

_Purring?!_

Fenris was, indeed, purring. But what held and kept Anders’ attention was the throbbing bulge against his back. Anders swallowed hard and tried to move a little but Fenris nuzzled more forcefully into his hair, breathing deeply and contentedly, squeezing him tightly again.

When Anders tried to move again, Fenris growled low in his throat, the resultant rumble vibrated through Anders’ entire upper body and _wow_ that was a visceral reaction in him. He was now not only hyper-aware of Fenris’ package lodged against his back, but his own as it began throbbing for the merest hint of attention.

Anders was screaming internally-- but then Fenris moved again. His hand rested over Anders’ lower stomach, dragging him against his erection but also touching Anders’. And that was when Anders’ internal scream manifested as a single and startling _squeak_. He held his breath, but Fenris didn’t wake up. However, at this point, Fenris was a thread away from dry humping his back. He murmured into Anders’ hair something that was very likely not in Trade.

Anders began to feel strange. Yes, he was incredibly aroused, but… Fenris was asleep and when he woke up this would have all been a simple mistake. He could not let himself think too deeply into it, and he should certainly not grind himself backward and egg the elf on. That would be cruel to both of them.

It was certainly a good thing that at some point Fenris stopped having a dream that would prompt him to hump the nearest warm thing. He lost his erection and Anders fell back asleep, still held immobile by the strong arms that he desperately wanted to cling to in turn. He thought about what Fenris had said the previous night.

_If I had not meant to protect you, I would not have put you in my bed._

Anders tried not to read too much into it. He tried so hard. 

But he _did_ feel safe.

 

* * *

Anders was alone in the bed when he woke again. The front door had shut loudly, and when Fenris came up to the bedroom, he was holding a dog brush. He threw it to Anders, who caught it, surprisingly enough. He stared at it for a while.

Fenris had been resisting the urge that morning to comb through Anders’ atrocious bed hair with his fingers. He hoped the brush would do the trick. He couldn’t stand there and watch Anders try to brush, however. It was something in the set of his shoulders when he was unencumbered by that coat. The _shape_ of the man, even in doing something so inane. It made his pulse stammer.

Though seeing Anders sleeping soundly in his bed, so close to him when he’d finally woken. That had had the same effect. 

Fenris didn’t feel like wearing more than just pants that day. He had intended to just pick a room and do some warmups, or something. Anything to take his mind off of his house guest. The mage. _Anders_.

He was starting to become _nervous_ that his manor needed to be cleaned! Why, of all things, did he think that was necessary? Why did he feel so much compulsion to impress Anders?

He _knew_ why, he just refused to let himself even think it. Thus, he trained. And if he noticed Anders watching through the half-open door, he never gave any indication. And he _definitely_ didn’t go out of his way to look better.

 

* * *

Anders and Fenris went to Hawke to tell him what had happened at the clinic. Varric was there too, however, stating basically the same thing. Varric had heard that Anders was likely either abducted or dead-- but seeing him now, and in Fenris’ company, made a frightening smile light up his face. 

“I’m accustomed to Varric stretching the truth, but you don’t look dead at all!” Hawke stated, his brow shooting up, arms crossing. He was obviously waiting for an explanation.

Why did Fenris feel the need to step in? Especially when Anders seemed nervous to say anything…

“I found him bleeding out and took him to my manor to patch him up. He was too exhausted to heal.”

Hawke blinked at Fenris. “Fenris, it’s always a treat when you joke, but could you be less deadpan? I can never tell at first if you’re serious.” He sighed. “I get it, though. You don’t want to talk about it, it just happened last night, and… agh, we have things we have to do today. So we’ll discuss this later at the Hanged Man or something. We need to find you a safe place to stay.”

“I’m staying with a friend.” Anders said firmly.

“Oh?”

Fenris wanted so badly to butt in and say _Yes, and he means **me**_. but he kept his tongue through sheer willpower. And when he met Varric’s eyes, he realized that it would be wise to keep it that way. The dwarf was looking much too smug.

The day drug on long enough, and by its end, Hawke was tired enough that he didn’t feel like drinking and carousing, and so he had everyone just come with him to his manor.

“You’re safe?” He asked Anders once the door was shut firmly behind them. “Where you’re staying, you’re safe, yes?”

“Absolutely.” Anders said, without missing a beat.

Fenris tried not to shine at how happy Anders’ confidence made him.

“Varric, are you free to walk Anders to wherever he’s staying?”

“Sorry, Hawke, but Bianca needs to be oiled.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, Fenris imagined he sounded overpleased with himself. “Have broody do it.”

Hawke turned his gaze to Fenris. “Can you stop brooding long enough to walk him safely to where he’s staying?”

Anders cracked up and Hawke looked at him. Anders cleared his throat. “Sorry, Hawke. It’s nothing.”

"I know I’m funny, it’s okay. But I need you both to put aside your differences and…”

“Yes, Hawke, I have time and means to get him where he needs to go. Anything further, or shall we take our leave?” Fenris interrupted, irritation becoming clear.

Varric was laughing, but when everyone turned back to see what his problem was, he had started playing with the dog. He stopped laughing when the mabari _jumped_ and put his paws on Varric’s shoulders. Varric crumbled under the weight and the dog laid on him.

“MABARI! **OFF**!” Hawke roared, and Fenris heard everyone else in the house fall out of their beds in terror.

The dog scrambled off Varric, but when he got back on his feet he just looked up at Hawke. “I’ll have to remember that when you want the dog to do something, just call him mabari, and he’ll answer to it better than his name.”

“Mabari _is_ his name.” Hawke stated.

Silence.

Varric laughed. “Okay, Hawke. You’ve got a story behind this. I know you do. So spill it.”

“Gamlen never called him anything, so I got to name him. He said to just name him Dog.”

Anders cracked up again, and Fenris shook his head. 

Hawke was biting his cheek to keep from laughing. He’d been holding this joke in for too long, it seemed. “I glared at him, you know. And I yelled ‘NO I would _never_ name him Dog. I’ll name him ONE WORSE THAN THAT!’ And…” Varric was weeping with laughter, Anders trying hard not to snort, and Fenris was just eying the dog with ill-concealed sadness. Such a powerful creature, the setup of a joke.

When at last Varric could speak again, however. “Hawke, really. That’s like naming a baby from Ferelden ‘Ferelden.’ or a baby from the Anderfels--” 

Anders coughed forcibly and Varric _should_ have stopped talking. “Seriously, Anders? That’s… oh! MAKER, ANDERS, I DIDN’T MEAN ANYTHING BY IT PLEASE PUT DOWN THE FIREBALL!”

Fenris sighed and grabbed Anders’ arm. “Time to go.” He growled, and Anders gave a last, playful glare to Varric before snuffing out his magic and heading to the door. He didn’t notice Fenris had linked arms with him to essentially drag him out until they were at the door to his own manor and he needed both hands to hold the door open for Anders to go in.

Fenris ran enough water for Anders to take a bath, told him to take his time. While Anders vigorously washed himself of fight-sweat, muck and other people’s blood, Fenris continued to train. Maybe if he tired himself out enough, he wouldn’t be as nervous about sleeping in the bed with Anders again tonight.

After Anders got out, he went looking for Fenris, and resisted the urge to just watch him dance around with the sword. He knocked on the door, which led to Fenris dropping the sword and flinching from surprise. At least, they both mused, he hadn’t naturally attacked him.

“I… um… finished with the bath. Cleaned it out, drew more water. You should clean up, too.” Anders’ voice was quiet, and Fenris had to come closer to hear him as well. His hair was wet, and the thin tunic he was wearing was oversized even on him. It looked soft. “It’s pretty warm out, so if I get too close in my sleep, feel free to punch me. I generate a lot of heat. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t usually notice heat all that much when I’m asleep. I’ve slept in boiler rooms, and until recently blankets were a rarity. I can sleep in just about any position, or not at all. But I need to stay sharp if I’m going to keep Templars off of you… and slavers off of me.”

Anders nodded. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t yet.” Fenris said, and went to go get his bath. Anders watched him go and swallowed his breath, willing himself to not think too deeply, to not get his hopes up-- and, for the love of _anything that hadn’t forsaken him_ , not to get an erection.

Fenris didn’t seem to like shirts when he was home. Anders was still somewhat awake when he came in from his bath, glowing so as to see his way up the stairs. He wanted to make a joke about how he must save a fortune on candles and torches and-- but wow, the way the brands lit up his skin was hypnotizing.

Anders wondered if Fenris was making it clear that he trusted him by walking around half-naked, or if he was doing it because he _knew_ it was driving him absolutely crazy. Not only was he hauntingly gorgeous, but seeing him lounge around in a state of undress felt somewhat intimate. It felt… domestic.

Fenris wondered how long Anders was going to stare before scooting over in the bed so he could lay down. Anders got the hint after a long while, and Fenris crawled in. Anders stayed facing Fenris this time to keep last night’s escapades from happening again. He didn’t think he could handle it if it did.

Fenris didn’t usually fall asleep so quickly. He blamed it on the warmth radiating nearby. He blamed it on the calming sound of even breathing as Anders fell asleep next to him. But he refused to place the blame where it truly belonged. He trusted Anders, and he’d never felt this safe around anyone. 

No, he corrected himself, it was definitely the relaxing pattern of Anders’ breathing. 

 

* * *

Fenris had never felt this warm before, and as he resurfaced, he realized he wasn’t under the blanket. Next, he realized he was stuck to a wall of flesh. He was tucked against Anders’ chest, the fuzz there tickling his nose. His head lay on Anders’ bicep, tucked under Anders’ chin. Anders’ other arm was draped protectively over Fenris’ hip.

orning light streamed in, glinting on dust motes. Fenris realized the reason he was stuck was not so much that Anders was holding him in place but because Anders, in his sleep, had stripped down to his smalls because he was too hot. Rather than give up this very warm hug-pillow that smelled nice, he gave up his clothes.

Fenris realized he could hear Anders’ heartbeat. He just sat there for a moment, wondering what he should do, but feeling no urgency despite the fact that usually restraint in any capacity sent him into a frenzy. He should have felt trapped, but he didn’t. He had no idea what to call this feeling.

There was just enough room for him to lean back a little and look down between their bodies. Fenris was suffering from the most palpable curiosity. Did he really want to look? Did he _really_ want to see if Anders--

Yes, yes he did. His curiosity got the best of him. He glanced down between them at Anders’ smalls…

And then again.

_Can barely call these 'smalls' if they can contain.... **that**._ He made himself look back up, staring at the hair on Anders’ chest and willing himself to not look down again. Never in his life had he ever felt this kind of outright desire. Just from seeing a bulge (however impressive) in a man’s smalls! But this wasn’t just a man. This was _Anders_. 

Fenris’ mind was very cruel. He wondered how Anders would act? Would his eyes be as warm as they usually were? Would he be… vocal? Fenris wanted that. He knew Anders wouldn’t tear him down or insult him. No, he could imagine Anders speaking soft praises, admiring him. He could imagine the breathy way he’d say his name.

With a slight start, Fenris realized that that was because Anders had just spoken. In his distraction, Fenris had trailed his fingers down Anders’ midriff. And in that heavy voice, raspy and decadent with sleep, Anders had murmured Fenris’ name, softly. Fenris felt his heart in his throat and squirmed a tiny bit.

He couldn’t move. He didn’t really want to. He wanted this to be normal. He wanted to wake up like this again.

He didn’t want Anders to leave.

Fenris didn’t have the strength of will to lie to himself in this position. He was in love and it was confusing and scary and amazing and… He felt like crying. Anders hummed darkly in his sleep and kissed the top of Fenris’ head before vigorously nuzzling into his hair. 

Fenris bit his lip to keep from sobbing. This felt like a gift he’d never expected to receive, wouldn’t have known how to ask for. He clutched at Anders and as lightly as he could, very carefully, he kissed right where Anders’ heart was. The chest hair tickled his nose again, and he almost sneezed. Worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't get too much time to write between both of my jobs, so please be patient with me. I worked for 7 straight days, and today was my first day off. I'm doing my best. I have no money and I'm scared I won't be able to pay my bills, so I'm writing this mostly out of stress.


	5. Believe In Me As I Believe In You, Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready to rot your teeth out with some fluff?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally quit adding extra chapters

At some point, Anders had rolled over on his back. Fenris awoke again to feel his chest heaving under him. At first he worried he was hurting him but then he realized that Anders was just having a nightmare.

At least he wasn’t glowing. He was thrashing a little now, though. Fenris pushed himself up and went to rouse Anders.

Anders’ expression was painful to look at. Whatever he was experiencing was enough to render him to near-tears. Fenris touched Anders’ shoulder, and went on to shake him slightly.

Anders gasped awake, a strangled "No!" emerging. Fenris was still holding his shoulder, leaning over him, when Anders shot upright. The noise of their heads colliding would have been comical if it hadn’t hurt so much. 

"Wat happ’n?" Anders grumbled. "Agh, hold on..."

Fenris felt the pain sink away into memory and he looked up at Anders, who waited to see Fenris was feeling better before he did the same for himself. 

The two of them looked at each other. After a beat of silence they both smiled. Anders raked through his hair, finding snarls in it and grimacing. "I, uh… woke you up?"

"You were upset. I wanted to make sure you were not hurt."

He blushed. "I’m okay."

"What was it? Do you…?" _Want to talk about it? Feel comfortable telling me? Need anything?_ Fenris trailed off, unsure how to continue. Anders seemed to understand.

"Just…" He took a deep breath. "They happen. You know? Uh, it’s a Warden thing. The taint."

Fenris’ brows knitted. 

"Gives us nightmares. For me, it kind of just bleeds into everything. Some nights are worse than others. This one wasn’t the worst."

"You are a terrible liar."

Anders nodded, sighing in defeat. "I don’t know how to even explain it. It starts out as a tiny detail and grows, like corruption. But there’s no fixing it. It just grows, consumes, and then there’s nothing left of that beauty you saw before. There’s just the darkness. The stench of decay. And the knowledge that there’s no escape."

Fenris was silent. He didn’t know how to contribute to this. No one had ever been there for his own nightmares, so he had only the most bare of ideas on what he was doing.

Anders struggled with his words for a moment. "There will come a day, I don’t know when. I’ll disappear overnight, and I’ll have to face that I’m not going to be me much longer. I’ll never grow old. I… can’t see myself having a family, and the idea of leaving someone I love behind…"

"You think too much." Fenris tried to console him, unsure how to ease the pain settling in his own chest. His hand moved to Anders’ back, rubbing soothing circles.

"I do. And I’m bitter about it, y’know? I mean, knowing that my mind wouldn’t always be mine, I went and let Justice in too. And."

Fenris understood now. "You have chipped yourself apart. For the Wardens, for Justice. Anders, why not do something selfish?"

Anders’ eyes clouded over as he remembered something. "I’ve tried that before. It ended with my blade in his heart. I…" He took a breath and held it for a moment. "I want to try again but. I have nothing to offer."

Fenris’ hand stilled on Anders’ back. "What would you want to offer that you cannot?"

"A future. I have no name, no home, no coin. I will die relatively young, in the Deep Roads, leaving them so they don’t have see it. I can’t offer a family-- especially since the taint damn near sterilizes a person, but… I mean, this with Justice. I’m a wanted apostate. I… I…"

Fenris sighed and resumed rubbing his back. "I suppose you should find such a person who would support such a burden with you. Who would even fight alongside you in the end."

"I don’t deserve that."

"You do." Fenris said softly, but firmly.

Anders sniffled, nodded. 

"I know it is odd to hear me say it. But I need you to believe me."

"Fen--"

"I need you to see the worth in yourself."

"I’m a healer." He responded.

"You are more than that." Fenris said. "I can’t be summed up as a former slave, as an elf. You can’t be summed up as healer or mage alone." His voice cracked. "You are _so much more than that._ "

Anders had to look away and cover his face. Fenris wanted to do something to help. But, he felt, perhaps this was what was needed. Anders wasn’t crying alone. 

"You are safe right now, here with me. It is okay to be selfish and feel your own emotions. Do not censor yourself anymore. You deserve to let yourself be more than your morals, your experiences, your future. Be _you_ because no one else ever will."

Anders’ shoulders shook as he wept as softly as he could.

Fenris felt his heart clench. "I am glad to have met you, Anders."

Anders was no longer crying softly but sobbing grossly into his hands.

Fenris’ hand moved naturally back to Anders’ shoulder, and he was about to pull him into a bone crushing hug--

The sound of Hawke and Varric coming into the front room made both men jump. Fenris looked Anders over and cleared his throat. "You should get dressed. I will go confront them."

Anders looked down at himself and let out an indignant squawk. "When did I--? Ah, I’m sorry."

"Do not worry. Get dressed."

Hawke saw Fenris stalking up to him with an absolutely murderous expression.

"Fenris! And in such a good mood! I’m surprised you’re asleep so late in the afternoon. Any chance you could locate Anders for me? He never told me who his friend was, who he’s staying with."

Fenris wanted to scream at Hawke that he’d have known if he wasn’t such an ass, but he bit his cheek as hard as he could. "I’ll fetch him. Where shall we meet you, Hawke?"

"Oh? I expected you’d prefer to send us after him. Well, that works too. Meet us at the docks, by time we’re done it’ll be late enough to meet everyone at the Hanged Man for cards and drinks." The way he said ‘late' so pointedly made the tips of Fenris’ ears burn.

"I’ll see you there." Fenris uttered through gritted teeth. Varric, unusually quiet, smirked up at him. Fenris waited until they left to go back upstairs to Anders.

Anders was holding his shirt, staring into space, otherwise mostly dressed. Fenris stared at those scars on Anders’ back, and thought about that night when he’d first seen them.

He thought about earlier this morning when Anders had kissed his hair… Fenris wondered how Anders would writhe if Fenris kissed his markings.

He stepped closer, unsure what he was doing, and Anders snapped out of his daze. He put the tunic on, turning toward Fenris. He’d made a valiant effort of concealing how puffy his eyes were from crying. “I’m sorry for falling apart like that.”

“Do not apologize for emotions. We cannot all be as blissfully stoic as I.”

Anders’ face cracked into a radiant smile. It was a skill he’d learned by now, distinguishing Fenris’ particular brand of humor from his other barbed comments. “Thank you for being there for me, though.”

“Of course.” He said it more vehemently than he’d meant to, and Anders looked dazed. He hurried to remedy the tension that was building again. “We are expected at the docks for Hawke’s annoying daily expenditures. We should leave post haste so we can get it over with. I could go for some wine.”

“Oh, _hell_ yes.”

“So eager to lose more gold?”

“You’ll help me, right?”

“I cannot work miracles. That is your job.”

Anders snickered and followed Fenris out, slinging his coat on.

 

* * *

It had been a while since either of them had had time for the Hanged Man and the party’s regular card games. Fenris was sandwiched between Isabela and Sebastian, Anders between Hawke and Varric. Merril stood at Isabela’s elbow; she didn’t have money to participate tonight, but by the gods she was going to get the best show. She wanted to learn from Isabela’s masterful sleight-of-hand. 

Between Hawke and Sebastian, Aveline looked distant-- almost girlishly so. No one had to ask what the deal was. Donnic had told Fenris, Anders, and Varric that he’d purchased a dowry recently. Varric had offered to make it a spectacle, but Donnic preferred a more… intimate setup. Everyone at that table had abruptly lost interest in hearing more. Anders was the only to voice his concerns, “Agh, it’s like hearing someone talk about wanting to screw your aunt. It’s just wrong.”

However, tonight, Anders is disappointingly silent. His attention keeps drifting at first to his nightmare from that morning, and then to the none-too-subtle attentions that Isabela is pointedly advertising to Fenris.

Perhaps Isabela would be easier to ignore if he didn’t _personally_ know her charms and their effectiveness. Or, perhaps, if the nightmare hadn’t directly reminded him that Fenris was under absolutely no obligation to return his own unspoken feelings. And even if he did, for some unspeakable reason, it wouldn’t end well, one way or another.

He wouldn’t want to burden Fenris with something he wouldn’t wish on anyone. 

So Anders kept replaying the moments over in his head from his nightmare. All the different ways every single thing could go wrong-- and in the end, it all came back to the taint. Small corners of the world tickled his memory, telling him that he wasn’t in the Deep Roads. He was in Kirkwall, and it was overrun with Darkspawn. 

And just as he couldn’t save Karl, he could never seem to reach anyone in time to save them before they were overcome. None of his patients in Darktown. None of his allies or hesitant comrades. Not Hawke. Not Fenris.

It had been worse this morning because he hadn’t had the dream like that since his feelings had developed like this-- not since he was around Fenris all the time, breathing in his scent until it was as familiar as his own. So waking up from the image of Fenris begging him to kill him, begging him to let him die, it was too late…

It had taken him so much self-control to not “be selfish” and tell Fenris exactly what he’d seen, what he’d felt. How, in the dream, before everything had gone to shit, he’d held Fenris so close to him, fallen into those vivid green eyes, and let himself be honest. And then waking to Fenris telling him to just _be selfish and do what he wanted_ , as if he _knew_ what Anders really wanted. 

One thing was for damned sure. He wanted Isabela to _stop trying to cop a feel on Fenris’ crotch_.

Fenris is having deja vu, watching Anders get more and more distant. His concern peaks when Anders no longer even looks up from his cards to make a quip, even a biting and petty one like he’d offered earlier. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong, why Anders seemed so uncomfortable, regressing into himself like he just wanted to disappear.

Little did Fenris know just how Anders’ blood went from boiling to frozen. He wished he couldn’t hear anything, that he didn’t know how Isabela would run those “quick and talented” fingers up Fenris’ thigh and--

“Blondie, is everything okay?” Varric leaned in close and whispered to him. Anders jumped and looked at him, saw his face was much more concerned than he’d expected.

Hawke laughed. “Varric! No peeking at his cards!”

Anders would normally have replied that it wouldn’t matter if he did; Anders would lose anyway. But when he looked into Varric’s kind eyes, his own began to sting. To his added horror, when he spoke, he could barely speak past the lump in his throat. “I don’t know, Varric. I don’t know.”

He couldn’t breathe. He needed some air. He pushed his chair back and stood up, looking around somewhat wildly. He caught a glimpse of wide green eyes and turned away in shame, picking a direction and just walking. As long as it was Away, he didn’t care.

The sound of Fenris’ chair scraping on the floor as he stood suddenly cut off conversation for the whole party, who looked up at him, confused. Confusion turned to alarm as he walked briskly to Anders and grabbed him roughly by the arm.

Anders turned without having to be pulled-- and the table’s collective jaws dropped when Anders flung his arms around Fenris’ neck. Fenris encircled Anders in his own arms and pulled him closer.

Murmurs of “What the fffff--” “Maker’s nipples!” and “No waaaaaay.” were overshadowed by Sebastian’s shout of “ANDRASTE’S CRISPY TITS!” Everyone took a completely appropriate moment to pause and stare incredulously at him. 

Varric took out a pen and pad of paper and began hastily scrawling, though whether it was the expletive or the romance unfolding nearby that inspired him, no one would know. Isabela and Hawke were arguing about bets that they’d both lost. 

Isabela had said ages ago that she was willing to bet her entire ship-fund she’d been building up that Anders and Fenris would explode at each other one time too many and just fuck like animals against the nearest surface, vertical or horizontal. Merrill had argued that it would be softer and sweeter than that. Like a passionate kiss, uncaring of who looked on. Hawke had asked why the hell she thought that was a possibility. She said “Because it would be sweet, and they would both be happy?”

Hawke had bet that nothing would happen between the two. How willfully blind could one man be?

Isabela pointed at Merrill. “I can _still win!_ They haven’t kissed yet, so--”

Merrill pointed at the targets of their current obsession, and Isabela looked back and the two were indeed tenderly kissing. Isabela roared in defeat. Merrill was already counting Hawke’s coin, and merely held out her hand to receive Isabela’s. “Thank you both for your patronage; the Alienage will benefit from your generosity.”

Isabela calls over to Anders. “Please tell me you guys hate fucked or something.”

Aveline made a noise so indignant that she sounded like she was turning inside out from her disgust. 

Sebastian, humiliated by his blasphemous words, stopped frantically blaming the drink and admitted to himself he was pent up, and that all the time he spent praying could have been used to build something like that with someone and then maybe he wouldn’t feel this weird. _Maker forgive me and preserve me, lead me away from the life I once led…_

Isabela sensed weakness and pounced. “So, if her tits are so crispy, did the Maker choose her because he likes jerky or something? Needed a good partner to gnaw on?”

Nervousness as well as drink made Sebastian much easier to laugh. Aveline groaned in disgust and announced she was going home. 

No one, _especially_ Isabela, seemed to notice. She climbed astride Sebastian’s lap, putting her hands on his shoulder. “What say I give you plenty to pray about tomorrow? I’ll make sure one of those prayers is for another night with me.” She nuzzled into his neck. “How’s that sound?”

Varric cleared his throat through a laugh. “What if he doesn’t _measure_ up?”

Isabela shrugged, her voice lilting suggestively as she answered “He’s a bowman; he’s got fingers of steel. And with an accent like that, his tongue knows how to dance. I’ll _teach_ him if I have to! Mm, I’ll give him some less… crispy tits to pray to.”

Hawke abruptly spoke deadpan. “Ahahahahahaha. Sex jokes.”

Merril rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re usually funny, what happened?”

He groaned. “I lost a lot of money, and also _you_ should try being funny when drunk and planning a wedding, dammit!”

 

* * *

It had been so strange. Fenris hadn’t even heard the others and when Anders was pressed so closely to him, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

"Anders…"

The way Fenris said his name still felt new. It was a reminder that he was more than a mage, than an extension of Justice. "Do you want me to be selfish?" Anders asked.

"Yes." Fenris said.

Anders pulled back and looked at Fenris, as if searching for some hint that he wasn’t serious. Fenris smiled up at him hopefully.

Anders held his breath and--

Fenris moved in at the same time and they bashed their faces together, drew back a little, laughing. Fenris cupped Anders’ cheek and brought him closer more carefully. 

It was only now that the sounds of the others reached Fenris, and he smiled wider into the kiss. Anders snickered and they both broke it off and put their foreheads together.

"You meant it, right? You’ll fight with me to the end?"

"I think we are done fighting." Fenris whispered.

"No, I meant--"

"I know."

Anders sighed and leaned in for another kiss. 

Across the room, Hawke suddenly screamed. "OH HE _WASN’T_ JOKING ABOUT TAKING ANDERS IN?? Wait, Varric, you _knew?!_ AGH AND FENRIS WAS GRUMPY AND-- _SHIRTLESS!_ Oh god, how. HOW was I this oblivious?"

"Shut up!" Anders and Fenris said over the top of each other. Anders laughed.

"Yeah, Hawke, be quiet, I’m trying to write." Varric said.

Merril leaned over Varric’s shoulder. 

"Do you mind?" Varric grunted.

"I was seeing which one you’re watching." She explained. 

Varric looked up at Isabela and Sebastian and sputtered disbelievingly. "Isabela, you have a _room_ here!"

"More exciting to do it here." She said, though Sebastian had the grace to look ashamed.

"I’m of a mind with Varric." Sebastian said softly. "Come." After a moment of awkwardness, he cleared his throat. "TO YOUR ROOM." 

 

* * *

Things didn’t calm down for a while. Hawke gave Fenris and Anders a break from adventuring for a few weeks, leaving them to make their own schedule. Fenris stayed at the clinic during the days, helping with the residents as much as he could. He had a knack for interacting with children, much to both of their surprise. 

The most precious thing had been Fenris distracting a little girl worried about her mother. While Anders took care of her, the little girl taught Fenris how to draw letters in the dirt. Anders got distracted watching Fenris’ face clench in concentration as he mimicked the little girl’s penmanship. He’d have to file this away for later and offer some resources and training. The idea warmed him all that day.

At nights, Anders would go home with Fenris, and through the combined efforts of Varric and Hawke, Fenris’ kitchen was both clean and stocked. 

Neither of them knew much about cooking-- but Anders saw an opportunity and took it. He bought some cookbooks and decided it was as good a place to start as any. Considering that they knew how to work around each other from fighting back to back, the rhythm of working together in the kitchen came ridiculously easy. The recipes and measurements took longer to master, but Fenris was ecstatic at the results. 

The nights became almost sickeningly sweet, since the nightmares both commonly suffered from seemed to happen much less frequently if they were tangled up, exhausted and content. Both were so thankful of the trust the other bestowed upon them.

Sometimes the memory of how it had once been emerged, how they’d bicker and threaten. And they’d laugh. 

Every day, Fenris made sure to remind Anders that he was loved, that he was important. And that they were both free. And, for once, Anders let himself believe. No matter where his actions would take him, Fenris would be there. Even if he couldn’t fathom how he deserved this gift, he had accepted it and cherished it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww yea I finished a fic
> 
> keep an eye out for Mercury Summer, my next Fenders WIP. It should show up in the next week.
> 
> (for anyone interested in an update to my situation, i don't get my first check until next month, and my partner got fired today. hopefully he can get unemployment. we're both scared. i'm writing and singing to keep from going crazy.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, almost everything I write is based off a song. I have a good 3 songs that remind me of Fenders. Just keep your ear to the ground.
> 
> And for those of you who enjoy my other works and are waiting for me to return THANK YOU so much for being so patient with me, I love you all, and I swear I'm coming back. In the meantime, perhaps you could enjoy some enemies to friends to lovers? I swear this is mostly a vent fic that I know will be over in 2 chapters at most. i'm riding a wave of creativity and kinda growing from it, I think.
> 
> I swear on my health that I'm coming back to finish my other 20 fics. I'm just stressed from losing my job.


End file.
